


Home Run, 1-0

by znsolomon



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Blaseball is an anime and no-one can tell me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/znsolomon/pseuds/znsolomon
Summary: The most legendary pitching duel of Season 12. Wyatt Pothos vs Burke Gonzales. An epic struggle lasting 20 innings.And one ordinary player, caught in it all.
Kudos: 10





	Home Run, 1-0

_"Listen Conrad. The worst thing a batter can do is be afraid. A good pitcher can smell fear, I tell ya. Always act like you’re gonna smash a homer out of left field, even when you’re shaking in your pinstripes.”_

**Top of the 20 th, Wild Wings fielding, Burke Gonzales Pitching, Jazz Hands batting. 0-0, 2 outs.**

Conrad Vaughn sat in the dugout, nervously adjusting their mouse ears, trying not to think about the game too hard. Which was difficult, you know what with the roaring crowd and camera crews and all.

There’d been hype about this game before it had started, of course. Two of the best pitchers in the entire league, going head-to-head. But it was only as the inning count racked up that Blaseball fans all over had started to take notice.

Conrad saw Tamara Crankit stepping up out of the dugout. “Just pretend like it’s practice, yeah?” they said, clapping Tamara on the shoulder and trying to give a reassuring smile. The words felt hollow however, and Conrad’s dry throat betrayed his nerves. Tamara gave Conrad a weak smile, shouldering zir bat and heading out.

Towering over the mound was the imposing figure of Burke Gonzales. The rest of the Jazz Hands were crowding around the dugout entrance to see Tamara, but Conrad couldn’t bear themselves to watch. They just sat at the back, staring at the wall as the strikes were called. One swinging, the next two looking. And just like that, it was over.

 _Who are we kidding_? Conrad thought to themself as Tammy trudged back to the dugout and the players prepared to change. _Burke is just too damn good_. Even when he headed back to the dugout, he remained standing, cutting an imposing figure with crossed arms and a wide stance. _Probably some kind of stamina thing. Or just to intimidate us_.

**Top of the 21 st, Wild Wings fielding, 0-0.**

Wyatt Pothos collapsed back into the dugout, gasping for air as she wiped sweat off her face. Campos offered a water bottle, which Pothos took, downed in one, and crushed beneath her foot. _She’s spent_ , Conrad thought. _Keeping a shutout going for 20 innings is just crazy_.

Steph Weeks stepped up to Conrad, handing them a bat and clapping them on the shoulder. “Okay Conrad, you can do this. Just try to bunt it, maybe get to first, then I can try something…” He trailed off with a thin smile, but Conrad knew it was fake. Weeks hadn’t even hit the ball in over ten innings. _Probably the only one of us who can score is Baby, and they won’t be up to bat until next innings. But that means…_

That means Pothos had to pitch again. Suddenly, Conrad stopped getting lost in his own head, and looked at the dugout of players. _What am I doing, moping around? Everyone here is playing their socks off. The crowd is roaring outside, we’re in the game of our lives, and **now** is the time I decide to stop caring? No way._

Conrad shouldered their bat, marching out of the dugout. Immediately the cheering made them waver in their step. The Wild Wings were out in force, screaming their star pitcher’s name as loud as they could. The pressure was so intense, Conrad almost lost their nerve right there.

_“Conrad, c’mon! Least you could do was swing at it!”_

_“Scrap…what’s the point? You said yourself the ball was going too fast for me, I’m not that good yet.”_

_“Right, but if it was a real pitcher and not a machine, they wouldn’t know that. Listen Conrad. The worst thing a batter can do is be afraid. A good pitcher can smell fear, I tell ya. Always act like you’re gonna smash a homer out of left field, even when you’re shaking in your pinstripes.”_

Conrad arrived at the Plate, and locked eyes with Burke Gonzales. Then, slowly and deliberately, Conrad lifted their bat, pointing it out over left field. The crowd gave a sharp intake of breath as the shot was called. Burke just grinned, then wound back to pitch.

Conrad quickly swung the bat behind their head, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as they watched Burke’s form. Burke moved impossibly fast, tensing back before starting to pull forwards, planting his foot on the ground-

Burke’s form was perfect. Of course it was, even after 20 innings. But the exhaustion had started to pull at the star pitcher, and he’d forgotten to check his footing before the pitch. So as Burke’s foot hit the ground, it skidded ever so slightly. Which caused the pitch to slow down, ever so slightly.

And Conrad was ready.

Ball hit bat with a satisfying SMACK, and Conrad was off, pelting hard to reach first. They couldn’t hear anything, just the rush of blood in their ears, but they needed to make it safe before the fielders-

 _I can’t hear **anything**. _Conrad reached first and looked up at the arena, at the thousands of Wild Wings fans stunned into silence. And finally, they saw the ball, clutched in the hands of a fan in the upper decks of left field.

Conrad slowed to a walk, still not quite processing what had happened. They looked back towards home, where the rest of the Jazz Hands had flooded the pitch in a massive pile, waiting for Conrad to come Home. Wyatt Pothos wasn’t among them, but Conrad could see her standing in the dugout. She smiled softly, giving Conrad a thumbs up. Of course, the game wasn’t over. Pothos would have to hold the Wings off for just one more innings for the Jazz Hands to win.

But, as Conrad jumped into the waiting pile of cheering teammates, they knew Pothos could do it. _After all, she’s not scared of anything._


End file.
